


retrospectively

by orphan_account



Category: Saturday Night Live, Weekend Update (SNL)
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Seth POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: just some good schmoopy sethon in love
Relationships: Seth Meyers/Stefon
Comments: 16
Kudos: 91





	retrospectively

The thing he gets asked the most is, “How’s Stefon?” 

What Seth wants to say is  _ wonderful _ and  _ difficult _ and  _ beautiful _ and _ I haven’t gotten decent sleep in the better part of a decade.  _ But he actually doesn’t say anything, only smiles and laughs like he’s in on the joke. And it is, ultimately, a joke. A long-running, monster of a joke that they tell each other every morning over the sound of Seth’s alarm, and then at night with their mouths pressed together, and sometimes in the middle of the day when the Late Night staff breaks for lunch. 

The  _ very best  _ kind of joke. The sort that makes you feel good. The kind of joke that Mulaney does better than anyone; It’s a story, and he talks you through every nuance of it, every high and low, sets it up perfectly, and the punchline is  _ gorgeous.  _ It never stings. Nobody gets hurt. There’s only laughter and a surprising warmth. 

If Seth were to ever tell anybody, like years down the line when he’s writing an autobiography or doing an in-depth retrospective or, probably more likely, the subject of a true crime podcast, he’d say the truth to scripted ratio was 60-40. Stefon would tell Mulaney over coffee, tucked in the corner of the cafe where he worked, about all his crazy, fucked up, unbelievable clubs that have  _ everything _ . And John would add whatever he was going to add to get Stefon to giggle during a show. Sometimes they wrote together, and you couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, and those weeks were the best weeks. 

The truth he’d admit in his retrospective is that he knew very early on that he could like Stefon too much. That he could, at any moment, fall disastrously in love with him. He felt that way so loudly that eventually everyone knew it - all the cast and his family and his girlfriend and most especially Stefon. Sidestepping around something so inevitable for so long it began to look like dancing. 

There are some things Seth would want to write about in his autobiography, because people should know, but they’re secrets and they’re his and so tender and precious he can’t trust the world with them. 

The way Stefon looks while he’s sleeping, his hair curly and big without product, soft between Seth’s fingers. The small noises he makes as his only form of communication before nine am. How he looks like a completely different person when they’re with the children, all those sharp features rounding, and he never hides his smile behind his hands. 

He’d never want to tell the world, even when he feels desperate to, about the way Stefon looks at him. Not the leering or wide-eyed joy anyone could catch on a YouTube clip, but the aching wonder at home, how Seth can feel Stefon’s happiness rolling off him in waves. How it burrows into Seth, under his skin and finds a place to live in his bones. Seth had never been  _ home  _ in New York until he married Stefon and he made one for them. 

“Come back to bed,” Stefon calls. The blankets are pooled around his hips, skin pale blue from the pre-dawn light coming through the windows. He smiles, a sly grin pulling at the corners of his perfect mouth. “It’s got  _ everything.” _

“Does it?” 

Stefon hums. “Mhm. Memory foam pillows. Devoted husbands. Blumans.”

“What’s a  _ Bluman?”  _ Seth asks, his voice so sweet and fond it makes Stefon wiggle. And he spreads his legs to welcome Seth between them. 

“It’s that  _ thing  _ where your husband’s got a thick dad-bod now and you’re always cold so he lies on top of you for twenty to forty minutes, like a blanket, and helps you work up a sweat.”

“Oh,  _ that  _ thing,” Seth whispers, and presses a kiss to Stefon’s jaw. 

He hums again, stretches underneath Seth like a cat as he pulls away the bedding between them. His hands are chilly and firm on Seth’s hips, he wraps his legs up around him, and says, “Get to it Seth Meyers. Put me in a sex coma.  _ Straight up murder me  _ with your -.”

“Stefon.”

  
  



End file.
